the_seafarer | [ AU ] to break a curse

[ AU ] to break a curse

Reap is past, and Susan is looking brighter and happier by the day, and now true winter is beginning to settle over this strange bar at the end of the universe. Caspian hauls the Hope up into the stables to be wintered and works long hours at the sleigh he'd designed, losing himself in the simple pleasures of working with the wood, sanding and carving in turn.

It's after one such day spent in labor that he comes to the bar proper, freshly showered and comfortably attired in a loose linen shirt and breeches, to join Susan by her spot at the fireside. He's chatting amiably with her about the horses, about how Corella is coming with her harness-training, and has just begun pouring her a glass of wine with the door opens and Caspian freezes. In the next moment, the glass overflows with the rich red liquid, but he doesn't notice; his eyes are locked on the tall, fair young man who has come in, dressed all in black.

Even to those who have never seen him, there may be something familiarly of Caspian about his face... but Susan has seen him, and she'll know as soon as she looks that Rilian, Prince of Narnia and Caspian's son, has returned.

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Alain nods, as Cuthbert leans forward again a little to catch Caspian's glance. "You'll know this already, I trust, but just to have it out clear - if there's aught of aid we can give, we're willing. Here or there."

Susan runs her hand from Caspian's shoulder down to his back in a series of small, soothing circles as she listens, and oh, there's naught of surprise in her at 'Bert's offer. Because of course he would - they all would, come to that, just as Caspian himself had offered to help with the Academy, the devar-toi in River's world.

"I know." He gives Susan a small smile, hardly a curve of one corner of his lips at all. Her hand is warm at his back, but he can hardly feel it.

"And I thank you all. But this is not a trouble we can fight; not those of us here. I'm afraid there's very little we might be able to do, aside from keep Rilian comfortable as as happy as possible while he's here, and to hope things have not been set awry by my meddling."

"Say not so," Susan's quick to reassure. "Thee hasn't, thee hasn't, and if there's need there's ways to manage things as - as we did when Roland, the younger Roland, had to leave. Ka wouldn't have blown him here if there'd not been a reason for it."

"And we all of us know all too well how often ka's needs match ours," he murmurs, before giving her a tired smile.

"Forgive me, Su. I haven't it in me tonight not to worry."

"There's naught to forgive." Oh, and he's not wrong, now is he? Like a wind, like a cyclone; ka's not kind, and well they all kennit.

Caspian looks down at his glass of wine; even refilled, he'd drained it dry. Will it be enough to let him sleep?

He hasn't any idea, but he'll have to try, regardless. "And yet I am afraid I'm no very merry shipmate tonight," he says, trying for a little of his usual lightness. It doesn't quite reach, but perhaps they'll allow it. "I think perhaps I will retire for the evening."

"We'll give you good-even, then," Alain says, as Susan sets her glass aside.

"I'll see to yer side before ye sleep, an'ye'll let me."

"Aye, of course." He'd almost forgotten the wound, though he'll have a harder time of that on the morrow; his whole body feels bruised and sore. Pushing up to standing, he sets his own glass down, and nods to the gunslingers. "Good night, fellows."

"Good night," Cuthbert echoes. "We'll see you on the morrow."

Susan slips a hand around Caspian's upper arm and tugs him gently in the direction of the bar. "I'll just gather a few things," she murmurs. "It'll only take a moment, say true."

He nods his agreement and walks with her toward the bar, his thoughts thankfully softened by the two glasses of wine. Not as much as he might wish, but then, he can't simply hide away in his own grief and misery, no matter how much he might want to. He must still be able to function as well as he can.

When they reach the bar, she makes a quiet request for clean cloths and bandages, herb-salve and a few other things she might need. All appear neatly packed in a little basket. Susan murmurs a word of thanks to lady-sai Bar for her kindness and turns to Caspian.

"I'll come with thee to yer rooms, and tend ye there."

Habit has him reaching for the basket, meaning to carry it for her. "Alright."

He walks with her to the staff quarters, then along the hall to his own rooms, then shifts the basket in his hands so as to unlock the door. Once stepped inside, he looks around the rooms as though seeing them for the first time, then offers her the basket back. "Where would you like me?"

She accepts it from him and nods to one of the large armchairs. "There, an'ye would," Susan says, but doesn't move to cross the room yet. Instead, she curves her hand gently against the side of his face, stroking her thumb over the arch of his cheek.

"I'd thought to see to yer wound, then mayhap draw ye a bath."

Caspian nods, tipping his head gently into her touch before reaching up to take her hand in his so he can lead her slowly to the chair she'd indicated. He lets go of her hand as they walk, so he can address the ties of his boiled leather surcoat. His hands are steady, but his fingers feel strongly numb, and it takes him longer than usual to get the first one loose.

"Let me," she murmurs, setting her basket aside on the nearby bookshelf. Susan moves to stand in front of him in order to work at the next tie, and the next.

He lets his hands fall to his sides, watching as she deftly loosens the ties, then shrugs the surcoat from off his shoulders before gripping the hem of his linen shirt and tugging it up and over his head in a stuttered, sore motion.

Purple and blue bruises are beginning to mark up his chest and sides, one in each spot Rilian hit him or shouldered him or struck him with the flat of his blade. And there, at his side, the angry red of the cut. It's no longer weeping blood, but the quick field bandage is dull red and damp.

She hisses in a soft breath at the sight. "Sit thee down, do," she coaxes. "I'll fetch a basin and start the bath running."

She waits to see him do so before she claims both surcoat and shirt from the floor and carries them into the bath. Soon, the sound of running water carries back into the room, followed by Susan with a pitcher of warm water.

She kneels down beside his chair and rests a hand on his knee as she looks up at him. "I'll be as gentle as I can," she promises. "Lean back and close yer eyes."

He sits as requested, leaning back, but as his glance travels over his own sore and bruised body, his breath hitches. Caspian leans forward and reaches for her wrist, then pulls her up on her knees, towards him, clasping her to him in a hard embrace as he pushes his face into the crook of her neck, shuddering hard. A moment later, hot tears smear the creamy, soft skin of her neck and shoulder, while he takes hard, shaking breaths, unwilling to let her go.

She draws him in and holds him close as she murmurs soft sounds of comfort. Susan keeps one arm around his body and cups her other hand over the back of his neck, threading her fingers gently through his hair.

"I kennit. Let it come, dear one." He'd said before that he didn't ken how he'd bear it if Rilian were to return, and she'd made him a promise then that she means to keep, oh aye. "I have thee. Let it come."

This is one thing to be grateful for, at least: the Men and Kings of Narnia have never been afraid to weep. And weep he does, shuddering with each breath as his tears soak her shoulder.

"Ah, Su." His voice is thick with grief, with tears, and he clings to her like a drowning man to a spar on the ocean.

"I kennit," she murmurs again. Susan strokes his hair gently, over and over. "Ka is cruel, so it is, that the two of ye should suffer so."

"He was such a jolly fellow as a boy."

The witch has taken much, much indeed. His queen, his son, his son's joy and light and laughter. Again, he curses himself for never being able to find Rilian, for never finding the serpent, for letting them ride out a-Maying that morning without him.

“I can well imagine.” How happy they must have been, all three of them together, before the witch’s evil work tore them apart.

Susan keeps up her gentle caresses, letting him hold to her as he needs and holding him in turn. “Mayhap he will be again, in time, even so. And how much a comfort it’ll be to him in time, too, to ken how much thee love him, even with everything.”

"I hope so. I do hope that, Su."

There's little enough he can offer to his son right now in way of assistance. All he can do is attempt to be cheerful and positive, to keep from antagonizing the Knight and to assure Rilian that everything will turn out well in the end. It has to, else all of Narnia, along with his son, will be lost.

He holds onto her, hot tears slowly leaking from between his lashes, comforted at least in the knowledge that he has her here with him in this horrible moment.

"It will." She puts every bit of her belief into her voice, hoping it'll be enough. "Oh aye, even though he's got to go back, how much it'll help him to remember every day the time thee have together here, and the promise of hope it brings, do'ee ken?"

Susan strokes her fingers through his hair and over his shoulder, soothing as much as she can. "He'll not have had that before, only the witch's cruelty and taunts. But he has it now, and that's because of thee. Thee did the right thing, Caspian."

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